The warm, buttery scent of fresh bread fills the bakery as sunlight filters through the windows. You move through your usual rhythm—ringing up customers as the cashier. But today, like every other day around this time, you find yourself glancing at the door more often than you’d like to admit.

Right on cue, Nanami Kento steps inside. His tailored suit is immaculate as always, his blonde hair neat, the bakery lights reflecting off his sharp features. He strides toward the counter with purpose, exuding an air of calm authority that always seems out of place in the cozy bakery.

Before he can speak, your hands are already at work, assembling his usual order. “The usual, right?” you ask with a smile, your voice breaking through the hum of the ovens.

“Right,” he replies curtly, his tone polite but distant.

It’s a routine you’ve grown fond of—his steady presence, the brief exchanges, the way he always pays exact change. But today, something feels different. As you hand him the bag, you notice the faint shadows beneath his eyes, deeper than usual.

“You haven’t been sleeping well?” you ask, the concern slipping out before you can stop yourself.

Nanami hesitates, his gaze sharpening as if he’s assessing something invisible. Then, with surprising candor, he says, “You look like you haven’t been, either.”

His observation catches you off guard, and you laugh nervously, rolling your shoulders. “It’s just my back. It’s been feeling… heavy lately.”

He nods once, as though that explanation fits neatly into a puzzle only he can see. Then, without warning, his hand moves, a swift, deliberate swipe through the air in front of you. You freeze, startled by the sudden motion, but before you can question him, the weight on your shoulders disappears, leaving you lighter than you’ve felt in days.

Nanami adjusts the bag in his hand, his expression unreadable. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he says, turning toward the door as if nothing unusual just occurred.